March / Apri 2016 - art ltd 75Catherine Opie: “700 Nimes Road”
(Delmonico Books/Prestel)There’s a hint of voyeurism à la “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,” and
the slightly self-conscious tenor of an ultra-cool Instagram feed in Catherine
Opie’s new book—129 sumptuous full-page plates set in a simple, clean
design in which all the lavishness is reserved for the contents of images
themselves. Which is to say, all the contents of Elizabeth Taylor’s house.
It is an exercise in portraiture by other means, what Hilton Als calls in his
essay for the book, “totems to aura.” Taylor died mid-way through the six-
month project; the women never met. Inspired by William Eggleston’s
Graceland photos taken a few years after the singer’s death, Opie’s prem-
ise was straightforward: to create an intimate, accurate portrait of a person
through their home and possessions. As a portraitist, the iconically frank
style Opie favors doesn’t work quite as well without a physiognomy to
read; and despite the close-ups, tilt shifts, and the play of texture and ambi-
ent light, a book like this will always feel like an inventory. Yet there’s a
resonant personal charm to these intuitively culled details: pink satin pil-
lows, Michael Jackson’s photo on a bedside table, Taylor’s Warhol portrait,
scarves, purses, Oscars. An array of kitsch and elegance, random souvenirs
and ballet shoes; endless white shag carpet and lights in the trees, and so
very, very many diamonds. Selections are on view at MOCA/PDC through
May 8, but as far more than a catalogue, this project lends itself to book
form, where it can be seen in its entirety and less dramatic images can
create an atmosphere of nuance. As Ingrid Sischy notes in her essay,
there is no hierarchy among objects on either Taylor or Opie’s part; enacting what Opie calls “a democracy of glamour.” In other words, it
looked like anyone’s house would, after being lived in for decades—which is ultimately the humanistic and conceptual success of the project.
It’s just that Taylor’s stuff was better.—SND
“George Herms: The River Book”
(Hamilton Press)
One of the most seminal California assemblage
artists, George Herms is known as much for his
persona as for any specific artworks. To a younger
generation, he may be best recognized as that older,
beatnik-type dude who does outlandish musical per-
formances; in 2011, invited to help usher in the
six-month panoply of Getty-sponsored PST exhibi-
tions, Herms ascended the stage with cardboard
guitar, chimes and horn to lend his oracular invoca-
tion. So a rediscovery of Herms is probably past due.
The hefty two-volume set titled “George Herms: The
River Book,” published by Hamilton Press, amply fits
the bill. Comprehensive in scope and handsomely
produced, with a fond intro essay by Dave Hickey, no
less, the slip-cased, hardbound set offers an immer-
sion into Herms’ world. The plentiful B&W and color
images of Herms’ works are a revelation, accentuat-
ing their every scavenged nuance and frayed surface.
Although sculptural in form, Hickey places Herms’ oeuvre at the junction of jazz and poetry; curator Walter Hopps put him in league with
Schwitters and Duchamp. But it is the wealth of personal, archival imagery that sets the project apart. Friends and at times collaborators with
Wallace Berman, Robert Alexander, Diane di Prima, poet Michael McClure, dancer Fred Herko, and others, Herms traversed California from
San Francisco and Larkspur up north, to Hermosa Beach and Topanga Canyon down south, bringing his Beat sensibility to LA. The trove of
photos presents Herms in his Pan-like element, amid burbling streams and tall grasses, among playful friends and shaggy kids and pregnant
lovers, offering a window into the lifestyle that engendered his creative muse. As Hickey notes, Herms remains “a willing participant in that
fraternity of kindred spirits and poetic optimists whose ebullience has defined ground zero for artists in California for the last half century.”
That California, too, has long since lost its innocence, but for a few True Believers like Herms; this lovingly assembled tribute makes the
case for its staying power. —GM